


Beneath a Criminal

by victorianvirgil



Series: Beneath a Criminal [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: A good ending, M/M, Prinxiety - Freeform, Sex, and then he meets roman who is working at the speakeasy, and they’re also partners, and uwu, and virgil’s gay but single poor baby, bondage (lmaooooo), but not really he’s just a famous crime lord everyone is scared of, logicality - Freeform, patton and logan work for him, so it’s the 20s, virgil is literally like a god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 17:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18056627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorianvirgil/pseuds/victorianvirgil
Summary: Virgil Faraldo, only the most notorious boss in Chicago with a name rivaling even Al Capone’s, expected nothing unusual to occur on a rather regular Saturday night; he was there on business matters, of course. But upon meeting the gaze of a recently-hired worker with legs like Virgil couldn’t believe, his night shifts dramatically and he finds himself shackled to a pair of hazel eyes that offer much more than Virgil first thought.





	Beneath a Criminal

_ March 8, 1924 _

 

Despite it’s infamous name,  _ The Fortissimo _ , a speakeasy on 3 rd and Michigan Ave, was hardly a place for quiet folk. With people screaming in laughter, stomping their feet in dance, and downing pint after pint - all which was very much apparent the moment a lean man of Italian descent stepped inside - that much was hardly a surprise. He tipped his hat - the deed accompanied with a wicked grin - to the first girl that saw him, a blonde little thing with bulging breasts. Her eyes had widened upon seeing him and she quickly glanced around her to see if the place would silence itself in favor of addressing his presence; but the day one of these places went silent was the day Virgil Faraldo’s reign would end, and with all the crime in Chicago, he might as well have been Lucifer presiding over an eternal hell.

 

He pressed a gloved finger to his lips, demanding her silence as he quietly strode through the room in search of a table - one close enough to see each and every movement of the girls dancing on stage but also far enough away from other tables that his words would not perk the ears of those who had no place hearing them. A quick nod to the bartender and moments later, a drink was pressed into the palm of his hand by a long-legged boy with a buckle separating his black pants from his partially unbuttoned white shirt. His fingers quickly retreated from the glass as soon as it met the heat of Virgil’s hand. He took a sip while his eyes wandered to meet those of his server, but the man had already been swallowed by the crowd.

 

He couldn’t help but raise an amused brow, taken slightly aback by the sight of the gorgeous man and by Logan’s carelessness - the man he had hired years ago now to manage  _ The Forissimo _ , including employment. It was a bold thing to hire a man like him, but Logan was surely smart enough to gamble with such things as Virgil’s and the speakeasy’s reputation in order to raise profits.

 

And besides, Virgil cared not about which sex flaunted skin as long as at the end of the day, whatever money they earned made its way into his hands.

 

“Why, if it isn’t Mr. Faraldo!” an overly-enthusiastic voice sang, his own name on another’s tongue dragging him away from his own thoughts. When Virgil looked up, he was pleased to see the familiar grin of his childhood friend framed by rich, dark skin that whispered of his ancestors. His presence was comforting, but Patton’s always was, no matter what mood Virgil was in.

 

“No, it’s Capone,” Virgil mused, tilting his head back and taking a swig of the contents in his glass. At his words, dozens of pairs of eyes flickered their way to see if there was a sliver of truth in either of their claims, but upon seeing two men looking like any other in the speakeasy, they looked away. The crime lord paid them no mind, sure they believed that Patton’s greeting had been nothing more than a teasing banter between friends; Virgil was clearly not Capone, and the infamous Faraldo would certainly not be a scrawny man that looked like just any other Italian in the room.

 

Idiots, the lot of them, idiots that were rapidly turning him into a millionaire with every empty bottle they pressed onto their tables while demanding more.

 

Patton sported a smirk as he slid into the empty seat besides him, taking a sip from Virgil’s glass before placing it back in front of him. His eyes then turned towards the array of dancers on stage, their skirts riding up their thighs and teasing a view of smooth legs. The frequency of hollering from their male peers increased with every second, Virgil and Patton gazed upon them wordlessly and a bit differently than the other men. Patton was head over heels in love, after all, and Virgil respected his girls. Even if he was only a few years their senior, he thought of them more like daughters than potential wives.

 

“Belmonte,” Patton called out. Like an apparition suddenly appearing, the boy that had served Virgil only moments before turned his head, “a drink for me and, another for my guest.”

 

He nodded, dutifully turning towards the bar as commanded. “But really,” Patton began, demanding Virgil’s attention while turning back to him and leaning back in his chair, “what brings you here? Business? Sex?”

 

Virgil snorted, downing the rest of his drink and placing the glass on the table with a click swallowed by the noise humming around them. Long fingers lifted it skywards, Virgil’s gaze followed the hand as amber liquid filled the glass once more. When it was placed back onto the table, Virgil took it in his hand while keeping his eyes on Patton, “I’m a businessman, my friend. I wouldn’t want to get the hopes up of every vamp with working ears with such an empty promise as wanting them.”

 

Belmonte, first name still unknown to Virgil, poured Patton a drink and remained his side. Virgil’s gaze flickered to him, hardly surprised to see a pair of hazel eyes drinking in his features. Virgil cocked his head playfully, planning on nothing but making the man squirm when he winked at him and kept his gaze on him. “A birthday present from Lo?”

 

The man didn’t waver, answering Virgil’s question without having to say a word.

 

Patton merely laughed, “Hardly, it took nearly a week of convincing to get Roman here the job. Having at least one of his kind is good for . . . well, he can do his job, can’t you, Belmonte?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Well, you have my blessing as long as he buttons his shirt once more and his endeavors remain inconspicuous. What a scandal this would be if it got out,” Virgil said, smirking as he looked back at the worker. And then, addressing him, “Do you dance, Roman Belmonte?”

 

A smirk played across Roman’s lips as he rounded Patton’s chair, placing a hand on Virgil’s shoulder and bending at the waist to whisper into his ear, “Only with the right partners, Mr. Faraldo.”

 

“And would you dance for me?”

 

Roman pulled back, fingers dragging down Virgil’s bicep before falling to his side. When Virgil looked up, the expression on Roman’s features could be interpreted as none other than a total and utter longing for him.

 

“I’d rather not in front of all these peering eyes,” he replied, tactfully evading a definitive response. For Patton’s sake, surely, the gaze of the owner decidedly fixed on the dancers on stage.

 

Virgil shrugged, glass in hand as he weighed his options: chase the lad a bit or let him go in order to discuss business matters. The decision was made for him as he eyes fell upon Roman, bottom lip teasingly rolled between his teeth, and Virgil’s skin involuntarily prickled as he pictured those plump lips wrapped around his cock. “But behind a closed door, perhaps a back room here that I, myself, own just for this reason . . . would you open your legs for me then?”

 

Patton cleared his throat, giving Virgil a look that told him that he was being far too loud and blunt. The original intent was to have a business meeting, after all. But Virgil still waited for a response, ignoring his subordinate.

 

“I could be persuaded, sir.”

 

“Belmonte.”

 

Roman, a playful gleam still present in his eyes, bowed his head obediently, bottom lip still snagged between his teeth in a poor attempt to conceal his dirty grin.

 

“Leave us for now,” Patton said, his normally light voice cold and commanding. Roman didn’t meet Virgil’s eyes as he left in favor of attending another table. Virgil felt Patton’s gaze on him but waited a moment - taking a generous sip of his whiskey - before meeting his eye. “Stop corrupting my boys, Faraldo.”

 

“Please, the only thing separating him from Hell is the simple fact that he continues to breathe,” Virgil replied, waving Patton off before eyeing the spiraling contents of his drink after quickly swirling the glass in his hand. And then, dismissively, “He’ll be on his knees for the Devil in the afterlife.”

 

Patton gave a small shrug in agreement before throwing the most recent numbers Virgil’s way that Logan had supplied him the night before: people attending, people that planned on attending, the number of drinks people consumed while present, and just exactly how much more alcohol was needed in order to avoid running out anytime soon.

 

Virgil was only half-listening, his biggest fault after seeing a pretty boy that caught his eyes. He could have Logan recite the information back for him later or manage to manipulate Patton into giving him the best answer because frankly, he trusted the man and whatever decision he felt was best tended to be the right decision anyway.

 

“So we buy more liquor and kill anyone that gets in our way,” Virgil interjected, Patton going silent as his jaw clenched.

 

“Virge . . .”

 

“We’ll talk more tomorrow, that’s all I have to say on the matter now.”

 

Patton nodded, not bothering to hide the aggravation present in his eyes. “I’ll send him your way then? Will you talk after that?”

 

“I trust you, bo,” Virgil shrugged, pulling out a wad of dollars from his back pocket and handing a few bills to Patton, “keep that gorgeous smile of yours up, no need to have your boy on my ass for no reason at all.”

 

Virgil turned away before Patton could respond, plucking a cigar from a man’s fingers and giving him a small nod as he continued walking towards the back of the club. There was a dark hallway, the lights overhead flickering and begging to be exchanged for a new bulb, with a number of doors on either side. The rooms behind each door all varied in quality, comfort less important when a pair of bodies were caught in the heat of the moment and willing to use any surface they stumbled upon. But Virgil, the true owner of the club despite his name not being on a single legal document, had a room far superior to the others, one that was locked at all times - whether he was inside or otherwise.

 

He pawed his key out of his pocket, pushing past the door after unlocking it to reveal a room bleeding with red lace and burgundy curtains. A plush rug brushed against the heels of his dress shoes, but despite his temptations, he kept them on for the time being. What would it say about him if he waited, naked as the day he was born, and patiently seated on the bed? No, Roman Belmonte would enter his chambers knowing exactly where he stood, and then after gathering his bearings - something Virgil would oh-so graciously offer for no longer than a moment - he would be knocked from his feet onto his knees where he would he would be far more useful to the crime lord.

 

Virgil kicked back another drink, the liquid fire tickling his throat soothing as he lowered himself onto a chair. He knew that there, in his humble abode, he looked like a king; he would hardly blame Roman if he kissed each and every one of his golden rings on his knuckles - he would praise him for it, in fact. He would run his fingers through his hair and pull, god, he’d yank the strands from his head until he was moaning like a little whore, let everyone in the whole damn place hear him scream until his throat was scratchy and sore.

 

The whiskey wetted Virgil’s lips, but the rest of his body hardly needed lubricant then, the desire to take Roman the moment he entered swelling inside of him. His cock certainly agreed with the idea of discarding foreplay in favor of getting right to the act, not having to look down to know that the fabric covering his crotch was certainly damp.

 

It wouldn’t be much longer, release sure as day, and he would have to make his drink last until Roman finally managed to slip away.

 

He waited only a moment longer, the door creaking open. In that time, he had propped open a book from the shelf an arm’s length away. It took only the first few pages for him to conclude that it wasn’t his style, but he needed to busy his hands, a distraction.

 

His eyes didn’t peel away from the text when he heard the door creak open, the clicking lock echoing in his ears once it was shut. He took a sip of his whiskey, finally meeting the other’s eye in a lazy manner.

 

Roman Belmonte was no longer holding back his dirty grin, eyes darkened by lust as he eyed Virgil like a piece of meat. “A fan of Fitzgerald?” he asked, false interest poorly laced in his words.

 

“Hardly,” Virgil replied, downing the rest of his whiskey and setting it down on the side table before closing the book with no interest to mark his page. Roman’s eyes followed the book into his lap, rubbing the back of his neck as he took a few steps forwards.

 

“I rather enjoyed  _ The Beautiful and the Damned _ .”

 

“Ah, so the likes of you can read?”

 

Roman’s smirk was inches away from Virgil’s, the latter unsure of when exactly he had gotten so close. Long fingers plucked the book from Virgil’s lap and moved it aside, Virgil only just catching the sound of the paperback smacking the floor before a body crawled up into his lap. “The likes of me are capable of many things,” he breathed, the words circling Virgil’s head like vultures. Virgil had never before found it so difficult to school his breathing into an even rhythm.

 

And Roman, hazel eyes nearly darkened to a lust-filled pitch, seemed to realize it as his hand brushed over Virgil’s lips, tips of his fingers trailing down what little of Virgil’s pale neck was exposed. He fiddled with the top of his black tie, gaze slowly trailing back up to meet Virgil’s.

 

“Show me, then, earn your pay.”

 

Roman closed the distance between them, grip of Virgil’s tie tightening as their lips pressed together, breaking whatever spell had been keeping both parties at bay, releasing the leashes of the beasts inside of themselves with full knowledge that they would leave marks.

 

By the time they made it to the bed (or rather, after Virgil pushed Roman from his lap and dragged him over), they were both divinely hard and grinding against one another in hopes of becoming even more so.

 

Minutes later, they were both holding up their ends of their bargain: Roman in earning his keep and Virgil in making the sodomite scream.

 

-

 

Virgil hadn’t expected to end up in handcuffs, even after the unfathomable number of rounds and the countless hours he had spent in Roman’s company.

 

It was well past two in the morning, Virgil having only submitted enough to rest on his back and lazily gaze upon the hungry being atop of him driving himself mad on his dick. It had never felt this good and when Virgil’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, lips releasing a devious moan - the first of the night from him, the first he had dared allow himself - he felt strong, calloused hands grab his wrists, cold, metal bracelets soon replacing the warmth of skin.

 

Virgil’s eyes snapped open, lips parting as he glanced up to see his wrists shackled together and one of Roman’s hands pinning him to the bedpost while his free hand continued to pump his cock as he moved on him.

 

“Wh-where the fuck-” Virgil began, breathing heavily and lifting his hips up to meet Roman’s, causing a filthy moan to leave his lips. But no words of clarification, not one.

 

Roman, of course, finished and pulled off before saying the last thing Virgil would have thought. “Officer Belmonte of Chicago, you’re under arrest.”

 

It was certainly no  _ Thank you for the wonderful night _ or  _ I’d love to do this again sometime, gorgeous _ or even a request for more, proving that he was indeed insatiable but neither of them would care, not as long as they were both able to get off. And they would, even if Roman could no longer count his orgasms on one hand, they would.

 

“On what grounds?”

 

“Plenty,” Roman replied, and frankly, he could have left it at that, but Virgil would have pressed because sure, he deserved time for his crimes but he was well beyond the point of justice; he just needed to know what the other hadn’t confirmed so he wouldn’t accidentally condemn himself.

 

Virgil watched Roman pull on his clothes with great interest, his cock seeming not to mind the distress he was under and his inevitable predicament because as amusing as it would have been, Roman didn’t seem to just be pretending to be a prohibition officer for the sake of some kink of his - one that Virgil clearly seemed to have, by the looks of it.

 

Once dressed, he said, “Now, Mr. Faraldo, the law protects you from being charged with a crime that you committed . . . due to my involvement. So we won’t mention-”

 

Virgil smirked and whatever small amount of fear he had vanished, the look somehow controlling despite the fact that he was naked and shackled. “Officer, are you protecting me from a sodomy charge? Because you must know that, well, that would be the only reason they’d even consider locking me up and throwing out the key.”

 

Roman - not Officer Belmonte, not to Virgil - pursed his lips, the crime lord managing to use his core to pull himself up into a sitting position with his hands in his lap. When the officer glanced his way, he grinned at him with a full set of sharp canines that, moments before, had wandered across the plains of his skin with no repercussions.

 

And Roman had loved it, the filthy whore.

 

“Plan on visiting me while I wait to be released?”

 

“You wouldn’t be so lucky.”

 

Virgil clicked his tongue, the sound sending shivers through Roman’s body that he could only do so much to hide as he grabbed his wrist and pulled him off the bed. “A pity, most men can’t handle one like you, Roman.”

 

The officer said nothing, hardly even looking at him as he dropped to his knees in order to pull Virgil’s pants back up.

 

“Couldn’t stay away for even a second?” Virgil mused while shifting his hips forwards, Roman gripping his thigh and pushing him back as he lifted his foot, slowly helping him into his legs while grinding his teeth. “You enjoyed it, so much. More than ever, I can imagine. How filthy, being beneath a criminal, how intriguing.”

 

Roman rose when he had pulled Virgil’s pants up, ignoring the way his dick poked at the fabric even after he was belted and zippered. But he said nothing, allowing for Virgil’s words to echo off the walls and in the space of his mind.

 

“And you can’t help but . . . want more. Am I correct, Roman?”

 

“Officer Belmonte,” he corrected, saying nothing further as he threw Virgil’s shirt around his shoulders and let the material hang off of him. He appeared smaller, then, even more scrawny with his ribs protruding from his nearly translucent torso.

 

“Do I at least get a kiss?” he asked, Virgil cocking his head just so.

 

Roman nearly laughed, grabbing Virgil by the wrist and dragging him out the door. Few people even noticed, Virgil walking with such ease that it hardly appeared as though he was being dragged out but rather that he was leaving on his own accord, or at least everything about him said that except for the handcuffs promptly jingling with every movement.

 

He was thrown into a cell that night, spent three days a only prisoner with the cells around him vacant and cold. But his cell was warm, warmed by another body beneath him after the first night alone. Rats scurried and slipped between his bars, but that wasn’t his focus, not when he was panting so loudly that the only thing louder in his ears were the moans of Roman.

 

The officer had done his best to resist, first avoiding the cell entirely and then, once forced to watch him, kept his distance. It hadn’t lasted long, not when he craved him more than either could truly comprehend. He even gave up on trying to stay quiet, accepting whatever fate had in store for them.

 

But the stars - or rather, those that were the corrupt jury in his trial that worshipped him as if he were their unofficial king - presented Virgil with freedom and not a second of his time inconvenienced by prison. He returned to the speakeasy on his fourth day since meeting the undercover officer, hardly surprised to see Roman there. Half an hour later, Roman was cuffed to the bed and Virgil was pushing inside of him, intoxicated from the sound of him, his taste, and the bottle of whiskey they had abandoned on the nightstand.

 

Virgil, the Devil incarnate, couldn’t help but grin down at him before he proceeded to fuck whatever remaining good was left. Corrupting him, just as he was born to do.

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! so mac is slightly upset that I managed to get out of writing an in-depth sex scene AGAIN but,,,I figured that you guys were given enough, and besides, there is something coming your way soon that will make up for it ;)
> 
> thank you for reading,  
> ronnie <3


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